“Yes,” says he, “he has got beautiful ones, and we will both go with you;” and he smiled again at her, and she smiled back at him. My mind was all took up and agitated at the idee of seein’ the son of that noble maytyr, my elevator over Betsey, the Widder and other sufferin’s. I told Josiah I would be back again in a few moments, and then I told the young feller I was ready to go with ’em; and presently I stood in the United States again, a lookin’ at some beautiful little statutes.
John Rogers Jr. wasn’t there when we arrived, and so I went to admirin’ his statutes. They was perfectly beautiful, though middlin’ small sized, and they all had clothes on, which was a surprise to me, and indeed a treat. The young couple comin’ to the Parson, looked first-rate, though considerable sheepish. And there was the “Favored Scholar,” lookin’ pretty and important, and the little boy, who I persume got whipped several times a day, makin’ up a face at her, jest as natural. And there was “We Boys,” on the horse’s back—goin’ after the cows, mebby; you could almost smell the clover blows, and the sweet hay a blowin’ down the lane, and almost hear the tinklin’ of the cow bell way off in the age of the woody pasture; the boys faces told the hull story. And then there was the confederate lady with the sick child, “Drawin’ Rations” of the triumphant North. All the pride of a long race of proud ancestors looked out of her sad eyes, as she came to take charity of her conqueror; but it was done for love’s sake—you could see that too, and that makes hard things easy. It is a middlin’ quiet influence, but it is more powerful in movin’ folks than a earthquake. And then there was the “Tap on the Window,” and “Rip Van Winkle,” and others; and before I had got half through admirin’ of ’em, a good lookin’ man come along that seemed awful tickled to see the feller and girl with me, and they laughed and whispered to each other real friendly, and then the young chap says he: “Allow me to introduce you Madam, to my friend John Rogers Jr.”
Says I, in tones tremblin’ with emotion: “How do you do, John Rogers Jr., I’ll make you acquainted with Josiah Allen’s wife;” and then I made a low curchy and shook hands with him, and says I, “I am all well, and hope you are the same.” And then politeness bein’ attended to, I spoke out and says I:
“John Rogers Jr., you haint no idee how I have been admirin’ your statutes, not only on account of their wonderful beauty, but on the account of your honored father. Your father, John Rogers Jr., was one of the noblest men I ever got acquainted with—in a history way, I mean. Folks may think they have got sound, well-seasoned principles that will stand most any strain, but I tell you, let anybody be sot fire to, and that will show what stuff they are made of.” Says I, “I have heerd folks tell about gittin’ up and bearin’ the cross, in a room all carpeted off, and jest warm enough for comfort; I never loved to hear it, for if that means anything, it means bearin’ the hull sin and sorrows of the world, the agony and despair, when earth destroyed and Heaven seemed to have forgotten. It means a good deal; I’ve heerd folks talk about bearin’ their cross in gittin’ up and exhortin’ folks, when you couldn’t tie ’em down they wanted to git up and talk so awful bad, and you couldn’t stop ’em, when they got at it. Why, to look round on the congregation sometimes, you would think if there was any agony about it, the hearers was the ones a sufferin’ of it. It is all right to talk in meetin’; I have heerd them that I had jest as lives hear as any minister—tender, simple messages that come straight from a good lovin’ Christian heart, and went to other hearts, jest like a arrer from a bo.”
But I never loved to hear folks say they was bearin’ a cross when they wasn’t. I say it is jest as bad to tell a wrong story in a meetin’-house as in a barn, or a sugar bush. I have heerd these same folks git up and say they was willin’ to die off that minute for the Lord’s sake, and after meetin’ I would ask ’em to give 25 cents to help God’s poor—work He left below for His childern to do in His name, and not a cent could I git from ’em. They was willin’ to bear the cross for Him with their tongue, and die off for Him with the same, in conference meetin’; but when it come to lendin’ the Lord 25 cents, this they truly felt was askin’ too much of ’em. And then I had my own idees whether they was really willin’ to die off, and I had my own mind too whether I was willin’ to have ’em. When they was baptized they left their pocket books to home, in the stand draw, but they ort to have been baptized too—all over by immersion.
“When the Lord gives a person health and strength to enjoy the beautiful world he placed him in, and powers to labor for Him and for humanity, I don’t believe He requires at the same time dyin’ grace of em. He wants them to have livin’ grace, and use it. They ort to be willin’ to live, which is a great deal harder sometimes. But truly, I was drawed into this episodin’ by comparin’ your honored father in my mind with these I have named. If they won’t give 25 cents for their religion, what would they say if they had to give what your father gave. His principle and religion bore the flames of agony and death and wasn’t burnt up—they couldn’t make a fire hot enough.” John put his handkerchief to his face and I see he was dretfully affected, so I bid him a almost tender good-bye and jined my pardner, and we went into England.
INTRODUCED TO JOHN ROGERS JR.
I took a sight of comfort in my tower through Great Britain, a seein’ her noble doins and meditatin’ how well off she was, and how she has prospered. Of course I can’t help feelin’ a little parshal to America, but the old lady country seems awful near to me; I think a sight of her. You can’t tear up a tree and set it out in a new place without leavin’ lots of little roots in the old soil; a mother and daughter can’t be parted away from each other without lots of memories and affections clingin’ round each other’s heart. Now, after I left Mother Smith’s and had a home of my own, I was always glad to see Mother Smith have things for her comfort; the more dresses and housen stuff she had, the better I liked it. And so it was with me and England, I didn’t feel a bit hurt because she seemed so well off; not a bit. Her display that she displayed to the Sentinal was next to our own in size and grandeur. It was beyond all description, so fur beyond, that description couldn’t think of catchin’ up, but would set right down.
I will merely mention one thing, a statute of the Saviour holdin’ a child in his arms, “Safe in the arms of Jesus;” it was beautiful, extremely so; it almost brought tears to my eyes it was so affectin’.